


Watched

by Sulla



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Spit As Lube, dub-con, non-con, outside person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: Title:  WatchedAuthor:  SullaRating:  NC-17 for language, violence, non-con, and graphic m/m sex ingeneral.Categories:  M/K, slash, non-con (kinda)**********WARNING**********Contains non-consensual sex.  Well, in a way.  Don't read this if that sortof stuff disturbs you.  You have been warned.**********WARNING**********Summery:  A drone for the Syndicate finds something a little different inhis usually boring work...Disclaimer:  Mulder and Krycek don't belong to me.  Never have, never will,Feedback: lcsulla2001@yahoo.com





	Watched

WATCHED by Sulla

 

When the Syndicate man retrieved the tapes from the closet  
hidden in the bowels of the Hoover building, he was not in a good mood. He  
saw stretching before him yet another night of perusing endless hours of  
useless footage.

He couldn't really figure out why his superiors even bothered surveilling  
the lower parking garage of the FBI's main building. All that was ever  
captured on the tapes were the coming and going of nondescript sedans, the  
appearances and reappearances of suited men and women on their way to and  
from their offices. Nothing spectacular. Hell, nothing in the slightest  
bit interesting.

And now, here he was with a week's worth of videotapes staring him in the  
face, almost taunting him with the upcoming crippling boredom. The worst  
thing was, he never even really knew what his superiors were looking for.  
'Anything out of the ordinary'. 'Anything different'. 'Anything that  
catches your eye'. These were the phases hurled at him.

The man snorts quietly to himself. There was *never* anything different or  
out of the ordinary. The cars were the same. The people were the same.  
Their clothes were the same. Hell, even the way they walked and tossed  
their keys in their hands was always the same. He had never known of a more  
boring group of people.

So the man sat down with a thump and a dramatic sigh in the little apartment  
that served as one of the many Syndicate viewing rooms. He'd better get  
onto it. He popped the first tape into the VCR, and pressed play.

 

******************************************************

 

It was well into the fourteenth hour and the sixth tape before  
anything actually did catch his eye. And that was a first. But when he saw  
the two men approaching each other in the carpark, his eyes squinted in  
concentration. It couldn't be. No way. It couldn't.

The man leaned forward, which really did nothing to enhance the  
footage. Actually the footage was incredibly high in quality; modern  
technology had banished the days of the grainy black and white surveillance  
tapes. They had been replaced by the full-color, sharp-resolution format  
that he now had before him. But the reason he leaned forward was not to  
question the image before him, but to question his own eyes. That  
dark-haired man in black with his gun drawn *had* to be Alex Krycek.

He himself hadn't seen Krycek for years; he had just been  
inducted as a new addition to the Syndicate's workforce around the time that  
Krycek had first defected from the old men's powerful clutches. But he knew  
a face when he saw it. That *was* Krycek.

The other man was obviously that permanent thorn in the  
Syndicate's proverbial paw, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Now, him he knew from  
personal experience. He had spent many an hour in surveillance of Mulder's  
apartment, so he wouldn't miss that man anywhere.

He could see the slight sneer on the agent's face as he  
approached Krycek. Yeah, there was a hell of a lot of animosity between  
*these* two men all right; the Syndicate man had heard the stories. He knew  
the details of the deception and betrayal, the history of the fights and  
beatings. Far more interesting, though, were the whispered rumors that had  
circulated among the Syndicate workers of sexual interest between the two  
former partners.

The Syndicate man could see now, though, that any spark between  
the two men was more than likely long gone, if there ever had been one in  
the first place. Doubtful. The said sneer on Mulder's face was gaining in  
altitude, and Krycek's mocking smirk spoke volumes. Then Krycek opened his  
mouth, and began to address the surly agent before him.

When he saw this on the screen before him, but heard no sound,  
the Syndicate man lunged forward to hit the volume controls. No way in hell  
he was gonna miss this. When he could hear the murmurings of the man in  
black clearly, he jumped to the side, grabbing his ever-waiting but  
never-used pen and logbook, poised to transcribe anything interesting that  
was said. His eyes glanced to the date and time display on the corner of  
the screen. Three days ago, very late at night. No wonder Krycek was  
willing to risk appearing there. It was unlikely any other agents would be  
present; only a workaholic with no life whatsoever, like Mulder, would stay  
at work past midnight on a Friday.

So the man ran the tape back for several seconds, to be sure not  
to miss anything, and settled back, pen in hand, to take it all in.

******************************************************

 

Krycek stood silently for a few moments, seeming to wait to see  
if Mulder would speak first. But as the seconds dragged into minutes, and  
the agent's raised upper lip soared to new heights, he decided to begin  
himself.

"So, Mulder, glad you could come."

The agent snorted. "Sure, whatever, Krycek. So glad you have  
to point a gun on me when you said this was a business meeting. Are you  
scared I'm gonna *hurt* you Krycek?"

This last sentence positively dripped sarcasm.

"Hardly," Krycek replied, shifting his grip carefully on the  
Glock he held, pointing it loosely in the direction of Mulder's groin.  
"This is indeed a business meeting, but I didn't say what kind of business  
meeting, did I? And, well," he continued, his voice dropping subtly to a  
low, sensual growl, "it isn't the kind of business you're expecting.

Mulder's eyebrow quirked up slightly, but he didn't respond.  
Silence reigned. Seconds ticked by. Then Krycek spoke again.

"Take off your pants, Mulder."

 

******************************************************

 

The Syndicate man almost jumped in his chair. What the hell?  
Well, that was...unexpected, to say the least. His pen lay in his hand, forgotten, as he stared  
intently at the two figures on the monitor before him. What on earth was  
Krycek planning? He waited with baited breath, a strange mix of dread and  
anticipation warring in his mind.

 

******************************************************

 

Mulder scowled. "You can't be serious, Krycek.  
You haven't gotten that desperate, have you? I mean, loosing that arm may  
make it hard to get laid, but it shouldn't prevent you from going out and  
getting yourself a rentboy. They'll fuck anything, well, if you pay them  
enough."

The corner of Krycek's lip twitched, the only motion or hint  
that any emotion whatsoever lurked behind his generally immobile features.  
Then in a split second the gun was gone, and he was on Mulder, spinning him  
around, digging out his handcuffs, and clasping the agent's hands together  
behind his back.

"Christ, Krycek!" Mulder yelled, and Krycek's fist slammed into  
the side of his head.

"Shut up," replied the younger man, dragging the hapless agent  
over to the nearest available car, which happened to be Mulder's own. He  
bent the man forward over the hood with his body, pushing Mulder's cheek  
hard against the cool metal with his fingers carded through the thick brown  
hair.

Krycek held Mulder face down against the car for several  
moments, appearing to be considering his options. Then the hand on Mulder's  
head was gone, and his belt was being wrenched open, and his pants pulled  
down to his knees. His boxers followed shortly thereafter, baring his ass  
to the cold air.

Mulder gasped as the chill bit into him. "Krycek... Krycek don't  
Don't fucking do this. Don't."

Above him, the man in black grinned lewdly, but this was out of  
Mulder's line of sight.

"But Mulder," the younger man purred, "you don't even know what  
I'm going to do!"

The prone man didn't respond, but his panicked gasps could be  
heard throughout the empty carpark. He was being held against the car by  
Krycek's body, and his cuffed hands prevented him from getting enough  
leverage to lift his torso off the hood. He was pinned.

Except for the sound of the air leaving Mulder's lungs over and  
over, silence reigned. Krycek stood motionless above him. As time  
stretched on inexorably, and nothing further happened, Mulder began to  
visibly relax.

One beat, then two, and then a hand flew down on the agent's  
bare ass, slapping him hard. Mulder yelped despairingly, as the fire spread  
across his abused flesh.

"What the *fuck*!"

The only answer was another slap, harder than the first,  
followed by a volley of blows that seemed to go on for hours. Mulder's  
breath sobbed out of him as he jerked involuntarily at each and every  
impact. Finally Krycek stopped, and stared down at his handiwork, face  
carefully neutral.

Mulder's ass was bright red, and the flesh quivered visibly as  
the agent braced again and again for the next slaps that never came. He was  
taking long, shuddering breaths, desperately attempting to regain his  
composure. Suddenly Krycek's hand dove between his legs, and the man  
grinned at the tight hardness he found there. His hand circled around  
Mulder's cock, giving one long stroke from root to tip, pausing at the  
engorged head to smear the drop of pre come over the sensitive flesh. The  
agent gasped, almost sobbed, mentally and physically flailing, almost drowning  
in his own humiliation.  


"...yeah, Mulder," Krycek growled, almost inaudibly. "I've  
found something you like, haven't I."

It was said as a statement of fact rather than as a question,  
and it went unanswered. Krycek brought his hand out from between Mulder's  
legs again, and quickly worked at his own belt, sighing quietly as he  
lowered his zipper. Krycek's cock sprang from its confines, ruddy and  
diamond hard, oozing his own pre-ejaculate from the slit.

Below him Mulder tensed yet again at the zipper's ominous sound,  
and began to shake. "No, Krycek...don't" he whined, his voice trailing  
off at the end.

Krycek raised a finger to his mouth, sucked on it  
contemplatively for a short moment, and then reached to spread Mulder's  
cheeks one-handed. The agent gasped again, tensing all over, clenching his  
anus tight. Krycek smiled sweetly at the movement of that tiny pucker, and  
an expression of anticipation painted his pretty features.

He waited a few moments for Mulder to relax minutely, and then  
without any preliminaries, he gently worked his index finger into the tight  
hole, clearly enjoying the feel of the agent squirming and clenching around  
the digit. Mulder began to moan quietly as Krycek started to work the  
finger in and out of his ass.

 

******************************************************

 

By this time, the Syndicate man was positive that he had lost  
his jawbone somewhere on the floor. He had been shocked as Krycek bared  
Mulder's ass, and had watched avidly the flurry of blows that rained down on  
the agent's reddening skin. The detail of the surveillance tapes was really  
exquisite, he thought.

When Krycek paused, the man stopped breathing, wondering what  
the assassin would do next. His hand dropped to the hardening bulge in his  
pants as Krycek sucked on his fingers, and he moaned aloud when that finger  
was dug into Mulder's ass.

He looked around furtively, as if to reassure himself that no one was there  
to see him, and then the Syndicate man pulled out his cock and began to  
stroke.

 

******************************************************

 

When the agent relaxed a little more, Krycek leaned over and  
spat directly onto his finger and the puckered flesh around it. He then  
inserted a second finger, not so gently this time, and started to pump the  
fingers vigorously into the tight channel, working it, stretching it open to  
make way for what was surely to come.

After several moments of this, Krycek retrieved his fingers from within the  
agent's ass to the sound of the prone man's whimper, and spat in his hand.  
He lubed up his bare cock with it and his precum, and then moved to place  
the blunt end of his erection against Mulder's twitching anus. He thrust.

Mulder cried out sharply, and Krycek's eyes moved to the man's face. Mulder  
's eyes were squeezed tight shut, his mouth twisted into a grimace. He  
stopped for a moment, evidently to give the man some time to adjust. Then,  
unable to wait any longer, he plunged his cock the rest of the way into Fox  
Mulder's tight rectum, right to the hilt.

"Take it, bitch, yeah..." Krycek growled through the lewd grin that graced  
his face, and twisted his hips viciously at the apex of the thrust. Mulder  
cried out again, weaker this time, as his whole form shuddered against the  
car with the impact of his enemy's body.

Krycek began a blistering pace. He hammered relentlessly into Mulder's  
still, prone form, milking his own cock with the agent's tight channel. He  
moved without thought, based purely in instinct, almost mechanically.  
Suddenly he leaned slightly, and sought out Mulder's cock once more, seeming  
to delight in its rigor.

He never faltered in his brutal pace, drilling himself continuously into  
body of his enemy. "You like this, don't you Mulder?" he sneered, beginning  
to pant with exertion as he took up the agent's cock and stroked it in time  
with his own thrusts. "Yeah, you like my cock up your tight FBI  
ass. You want me to fuck you. You...ah...you've always wanted me to fuck  
you. I'll rip you open and...unh...lay you bare, bitch."

Below him, Mulder's face was flushed red, his eyes still screwed up tight,  
and his mouth with its pouting lips open in a silent cry. Three more  
strokes of Krycek's hand, and Mulder began to convulse, gasping and grunting  
with both the impact of his attacker's body and that of his own orgasm.  
Thick ropey steams of semen splattered the hood of his car and his jacketed  
chest.

Krycek continued to skewer Mulder through the clamping convulsions on his  
cock. His force increased mightily, to the point where it seemed something  
would have to be breaking inside the agent's stretched and reddened ass.  
Then finally his thrusts became erratic, and he arched his back and came  
with a loud grunt, digging his fingers into Mulder's hips as he shot his come  
deep into the prone man's rectum.

Krycek only paused for a moment before straightening and pulling out of  
Mulder with a slick squelching sound. He quickly and efficiently tucked  
himself back into his jeans, and, this done, quickly uncuffed Mulder's hands  
and then slapped his ass lightly, provoking a yelp of pain.

"Get up, Mulder. You don't want to lie around all night like this, do you?"

The man lying in his own come on the hood of his car shifted slightly,  
craning his head around to take in the rogue agent with a scowl.

"You son of a bitch."

Krycek smirked anew. "Yeah, yeah, you like it, baby. You know you do."

Mulder slowly stood up, reaching for his pants, which were now puddled about  
his ankles. Ignoring the trickle of Krycek's come that was moving slowly out  
of his anus and down the inside of his thigh, Mulder pulled his clothes up  
over his softening cock.

"Yeah, whatever buddy."

The two men shared a look, and turned as one to stare at a small dark crack  
in the ceiling, both grinning ear to ear. Krycek winked before turning back  
to Mulder.

Then they both turned away, each going to one side of the car; Krycek on the  
driver's side. Before he got in, Mulder addressed the younger man across  
the roof.

"Next time, *I'm* on top."

 

******************************************************

 

The Syndicate man sat hunched in his chair, softening cock in  
hand, jacket splattered with his cum. His mouth gaped. What the fuck? It  
had all been a...

"Son of a *bitch*!"

Well, he guessed the cover for *that* camera was blown...

 

******************************************************

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> I just starting watching the The X-Files from season 1 again, so I decided to hunt down all my XF fic from back in the day. For instance, I wrote this story almost 20 years ago. Please forgive my 20-something brain if you don't like it. It has been difficult, hunting down fic from the turn of the century, but luckily they seem to exist out there! Thanks to all those XF archives out there! (Whispers of X) :D


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